I have, at the moment, no fewer than six sweaters on the needles. I don't know what this says about me, exactly. But I do know this: last week, there were seven, and I'm pleased to report that seven's fate was not the scrap heap, but the finished work pile. Which in this case, looks rather like a certain soft-bodied, bald plastic sidekick that answers to the name of Winkie-Blinkie. Works for me.
Last week saw yet another rainy-outdoors, stuck-indoors, full-stop-no-school, cold. (Seriously? Germs? Enough, already.) And while we polished off our elixir and hauled out the sick basket (again) and slurped miso soup for days on end, we were frankly a little cross-eyed at the prospect. We'd seen this episode before. We were done with re-runs. We needed a new ending.
We needed a sweater.
Zoë had been asking after a sweater for her baby doll since, oh, I knit my first scarf. At the time, a doll sweater sat somewhere between perfectly laughable and absolutely impossible.
Shape? Fit! Sleeves. {Tremble. Gasp. Shudder.}
I hemmed and hawed and forestalled all I could. But the girl is persistant. Not to mention observant. When I finished my first girl-sized sweater, last year, she helpfully noted that I was now qualified. I nodded, dubiously. Then procrastinated some more. Somehow, it seemed simpler to cast on more people sweaters (been there! done that!) than to venture into this strange, foreign, 14" land.
But by last week, with the cabin walls closing in, strange, foreign lands seemed just the thing. So on Wednesday morning, we began a Little Kina. And by Thursday afternoon, we had woven in ends. If this seems like a minor miracle, it wasn't. A major one, maybe. Plus ten months' experience.
I realized, as we knitted our way through two days, that it came together smoothly because the half-dozen others maybe didn't. I've learned so many lessons along the way—the hard way, is there any other?—and each one informed our efforts as we worked yoke to hem. I tend to believe I alone make stupid simple mistakes. But on the off chance there are others (and the certainty I'll forget my own), here, then, in no particular order, are a few little gleanings:
:: Choose a good yarn. I thought I had this down, seeing as I was to the natural fiber faithful born. But that red sweater on Henry, there? The same pattern as Zoë's, but a beast to work, start to finish. It was wool, 100%, and looked to be soft, but split terribly with each stitch, and was scratchy as all get out. Two wearings, over and out. The Itch Factor is everything.
:: Have plenty of it. And then have some more.
My dear friend Dania sent a care package last spring, which included a gorgeous inky-black over-dyed worsted. I made it through nine-tenths of Retro Girl's Smock, only to come up twenty yards short. Per my reading of the specs, I went in with forty yards to spare. Either my knitting is off, or my reading, or both. I've a new skein in hand now, and one cap sleeve to go, and the conviction that 'plenty' should be prefaced with 'more than'.
(Speaking of hard lessons, turns out skeins are not balls. And pulling from one end yields a Guiness-worthy tangle. I think I set a record. Judgement pending.)
:: Match the yarn to the needles. Doh. Amateur hour. In my defense, that lilac In Threes, down there, was begun in Seattle this past July. I'd tossed pattern and needles in my carry-on at the last, plus an unlabelled ball of Lamb's Pride from my mom. I eyeballed it as an 8. I eyeballed it wrong. The stitches (and I) could have gone up two needle sizes. Still, the sweater is entirely done, save for the stitching on of three little buttons.
(I suppose this isn't actually "on the needles". But I file everything in that mental bin, until it's "on the child".)
(Needle size aside, this same sweater taught us that a ball of yarn is a wildly entertaining thing to have around. That isn't our cat (we don't have a cat), but it hung out in our yard for weeks this September. We bagged some serious giggles, one early evening, from tossing him the remains of the wool.)
:: If in doubt, look it up. If in anything other than certainty, look it up still. If you are me, anyway. A stitch in time doesn't put a candle to the stitches (hours [weeks]) saved from a quick sit with the Vogue Knitting Quick Reference. Hindsight screaming speaking here, you understand.
I will not bore you with the tale of my Tiny Tea Leaves gone awry, except to say that when I thought I understood K1FB, I thought wrong. Really, really wrong. For far too long. Also, a yoke is comprised of a few hundred K1FB's. Also, there's a wicked disconnect between knit-time and unravel-time. It's a little like dog years, 7:1, only more along the lines of 197:1. Also, I now know the meaning of the term "frogged".
Ribbit, pink Tea Leaves. Rest in peace.
(Also? Don't let failure hang around. Pink Tea Leaves may be history, but teal Tea Leaves is well underway.)
:: Try it on as you go. No, it's not too much trouble. Patterns are good; reality's better. I've a Swing Thing that needs only an additional inch on one sleeve. And two fewer inches on the other. I thought it looked awfully tremendously l-o-o-o-n-g, but have an abiding faith in instructions over instinct.
Make that 'had'.
:: I'm a little reluctant to mention this last one, as I'm violating it as I type, but for the sake of the common good, here goes: don't let projects linger too long, or you'll forget where you left them, and what to do next. I've a long chunky cardi in the works for me (me!), coming together in an icy blue Ironstone. The whole back, the left side, and 2.5 sleeves are finished, and that's enough said about that.
What I've found, through the thick and thin of it all, is that learnings transcend particular projects. I could've jumped ship after Henry's sweater tanked. (Okay, nearly did. The working through the wearing, they were That Bad.) And were the sweater the end grade, I'd have marked it an F, and abandoned this stick and fuzz business post-haste. Hits rock, misses rot, but at the end of the day, my fingers still twitch, and yesterday's mistakes feed tomorrow's efforts. I could get all metaphysical here, go woo-woo over journeys and destinations, but I'd rather talk stir-fry.
Cashew chicken, anyone?
I'm no more an expert at stir-fry than knitting, merely a wild raving fan of both. But I've been a student of stir-fry much longer, and thus have chalked up quite a string of attempts. There are so many ways to fail a stir-fry, and I've mastered most of them over the years. Crowd the pan. Wimp the heat. Burn the garlic. Incinerate the meat. Cut the vegetables haphazardly. Walk away from the stove. Not that stir-fry is in any way difficult, no more than, say noticing your daughter's not a babboon. (Incidentally, if yours is? I've got just the Swing Thing...)
What I've learned, over time, is that pass-the-chopsticks-now stir-fry is only a drop of care away. Most everything I know I learned from Grace Young, whose Breath of the Wok is my bible in these matters. (Her subsequent book's none too shabby, either.) Pretty much, just do the reverse of the above: crank the heat, watch the garlic, keep portions small. Cut it even, cook it quick, and stick around. And keep the flavors simple; stir-fries aren't kitchen sinks.
I am always tempted to add just one more thing, an extra vegetable, a tip of whatever. But the stir-fries I love best—pork and tofu, pork and green beans, bok choy and mushrooms—are all duets, spare lucid little essays on texture and taste. It's well past time we add cashew chicken to that list.
I've made this stir-fry dozens of times. No fewer than four. Possibly five. This particular rendition hails from Ken Hom, another of my go-to stir-fry gurus. It is little more than its title implies—cashews and chicken, seared lightning-fast, delicately seasoned with rice wine and soy. But a few details take these humbles to wonderful. The chicken is cut to bite-size half-inch cubes, then set to mingle with egg white and the merest corn starch. This, in preparation for 'velveting' the meat, a quick dip in boiling water before it hits the hot oil. It takes all of two minutes, and can be done in the same pan, and delivers succulent morsels, every time.
Add to that the sweet crunch of cashew. And the merest glaze of soy and sweet wine (no heavy glop of a brown sauce, here). And that addictive, invisible fingerprint of heat. And there you have it, my kind of fast food, one deeply, seriously happy meal.
Now if you'll please excuse me, I've half a sleeve to unravel. Or a third arm to grow. Actually ...
Cashew Chicken
adapted from Ken Hom, Chinese Cooking
Shaoxing rice wine is inexpensive and endlessly useful in stir fries. It's available at well-stocked grocers, and any Asian Market. Dry sherry or mirin make fine substitutes. Please allow 20 minutes for chicken to marinate. After that, it all comes together in a trice.
1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 egg white
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons corn starch
1 tablespoon peanut or canola oil
3 ounces (1/2 cup) salted, roasted cashews, roughly chopped
1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine, dry sherry or mirin
1 tablespoon soy sauce
hot rice, to serve
Cut chicken into 1/2" cubes. In a small bowl, mix chicken with egg white, salt and cornstarch, and refrigerate 20 minutes (or up to 6 hours).
Boil 4 cups water to velvet chicken—boil water directly in your wok, if you intend to stir-fry in it later; or, if you'll be using a skillet (whose sides are not high enough to accomodat the water), boil water in a small saucepan. When water comes to a boil, immediately remove pan from heat and add the chicken, stirring steadily to prevent it from sticking. Continue for 2 minutes, until chicken turns white, then drain chicken into a separate bowl. Set aside. Drain water, and if using your wok, rinse, wipe, dry, and return to the stove.
Heat dry wok until very hot, add oil, and add cashews, stirring constantly for 30-60 seconds (do not walk away—they darken almost instantly). Add chicken, rice wine and soy sauce, and stir-fry another 2-4 minutes, until chicken is cooked through, liquid is mostly evaporated, and the residual sauce has thickened slightly, like light cream.
Garnish with scallions or chives or nothing at all, and serve immediately over piping hot rice.
It's been some time since we talked sticks and fuzz, hasn't it? February, let's see—one,two,three,four,five,six,seven,eight—eight months. Wow. Nearly as many months as sweaters. Exactly the number, if you can't the one I unravelled, but I think I'm getting ahead of myself there... I hadn't meant for so many months to pass. It's not for lack of effort, exactly. More like lack of completion.
I guess I thought I'd get to an All Done place. You know, needles empty, remnants tucked away, everything Finished. Basket empty, new patterns Queued. Ready to recap, and then to Start Fresh. I've decided this is like having an entirely Clean House. Unlikely.
And entirely beside the point, no?